run your life? Oh, my, did I say run? I meant ruin!”
“Ha! Stop exaggerating, Kat, before you set that Irish blood to boiling. My ex, whose name is no longer worthy of being uttered from my lips, has not ruined my life. He just helped to enhance my search skills and made me very selective. Right now, my man’s first name is Resort and his last name is Spa.”
“Go ahead. Hide behind your pesky professional obligations.”
“You call a thirty-million-dollar renovation pesky? You go, girl!”
“But just remember,” Kat continued, not missing a beat or taking the bait. “You’re not getting any younger. You may have pushed it to the back of your mind, but I remember a young woman who not so long ago was eagerly looking forward to marriage and motherhood. The right man to make that happen is still out there.”
“Amid the glass, bricks and plywood that currently litter our vineyard?”
“No, sweetie, perhaps amid the blood, sweat and mass of muscles moving that stuff around! I’m not saying you should marry one of the workers, but you should at least take a look. I have and let me tell you…there’s some honeys in the bunch.”
Diamond’s phone rang. It was just as well that the conversation end and that she take her mind off men—her sore spot—and put it back on work—her salvation. Besides, when it came to those particular M&Ms—men and marriage—there was no use arguing with her trusty assistant. Kathleen had wed at eighteen and borne five children. In her mind one hadn’t lived until they’d snagged a man, had a child, adopted a dog and got a house surrounded by a white picket fence. She’d been married longer than Diamond had been alive. So when it came to heartbreak and breakups, what did she know?
“That was the designer,” Diamond said after completing the call. “She’s at the site. I’ll be back in less than an hour.”
The clicking of Diamond’s four-inch heels punctuated the air as she walked to her parking space. She unlocked the door of her shiny sports coupe and slid inside. Belatedly realizing that the heat index in sunny Temecula, California, had risen, she shed her suit jacket, grabbed a pen in the cup holder and hastily placed her shoulder-length dark auburn hair into a chignon. The construction site was less than a mile away from Drake Wines’ executive offices. As she drove down the picturesque lane lined with colorful maple trees boasting red, orange and yellow leaves in the autumn sun, Diamond knew her focus should be on windows, tiles and color swatches and making sure that every aspect of the job to which she’d been entrusted was being executed to perfection. Instead, it was on man candy.
Chapter 2
Jackson “Boss” Wright leaned back in his large black executive chair with a satisfied smile. He and his team had done it again—outsmarted and outbid the big boys. Boss Construction had just won a lucrative contract for a downtown development in Chicago, Illinois. He couldn’t wait to sit down with his team and fine-tune the plans, but first he needed to fly to Chicago for another meeting with the executives behind this combination shopping mall and office complex that would include a soaring edifice rivaling the Willis Tower. Jackson turned on his electronic calendar even as he reached for the speaker button on his office phone. At the same time, his office door opened and his assistant walked in. She was not smiling.
“We got another one,” she said without preamble.
Jackson heaved a heavy sigh. Without asking, he knew what she meant. “Let me see it.”
Marissa Hayes, Jackson’s loyal assistant of six years, approached his desk, her outstretched hand containing a single sheet of paper. Jackson scanned it quickly. The note was short and succinct—as had been all the others.
The bigger they are, the harder they fall. You think you’ve gotten pretty big, huh? Mr. Big-Time Construction, Mr. Millionaire Business Owner. Enjoy it while you can. Because your days at the top are numbered…just like the days of your life.
Jackson casually tossed the piece of paper aside. He remained purposefully nonchalant, not wanting to upset Marissa more than this and the previous letters already had. “This is, what, the third or fourth one?”
“Fifth,” Marissa somberly responded.
“Place it in the file with the others.” Jackson scrolled the electronic calendar with his finger. “I need you to schedule meetings with all relevant parties of the Chicago project, including the mayor, if he’s available. Then book a flight for the evening before.”
“Returning when?”
“Either the evening of the last meeting or, if it’s a dinner meeting, the next day’s first flight.” Jackson placed his iPad aside and walked over to a drafting table.
“So that’s it?”
“What else is there? You already know to book me at the Ritz-Carlton Chicago, rent the car from—”
“Not the trip, Boss. I’m talking about the letter.”
“What about it?”
“How long are you going to let these threats come before you do something about it?”
“What do you propose I do?”
Marissa worked hard not to let the exasperation she felt come out in her voice. “Call the police, hire an investigator, I don’t know…but something!” So much for masking frustration. Even a blind man could have seen her chagrin.
Jackson noted the fear in Marissa’s eyes. He didn’t share it, but he didn’t blame her. The first letter had arrived approximately two months ago, right after he’d ended a short-term affair. To say that the woman had been less than pleased was putting it mildly. She’d all but told him—in fact, she’d actually told him—that he’d regret the day he let her go. At first, he’d thought the letters were from her. But then again, it could be a former worker or subcontractor. He’d had to fire a few bad apples over the years. Maybe someone was still smarting from their termination—or being left off a job. He’d even considered the competition he’d beat out for the past few contracts. While the idea seemed highly unlikely, the construction business was a very competitive one. Boss Construction had landed several sweet deals in the past five years, outmaneuvering some pretty heavy hitters along the way. When billions of dollars were at stake and the national economy still shaky at best, who knew what companies were capable of? And finally there was Marissa’s observation: that the letters began arriving shortly after he’d been featured in Black Enterprise magazine. The article, not to mention the accompanying photos, had resulted in a deluge of extra publicity—and fan mail. Maybe someone from his past had read it. Maybe someone from the life and the lifestyle he’d worked so hard to leave behind was trying to drag him back into it. But he wondered who would want to do that. And why? He’d left his old life more than a decade ago. Jackson wasn’t so much concerned for himself as he was for those around him. For the first time, he fully acknowledged the potential extent of the threats. Damage could not only be done to him but to anyone in his offices. Marissa was right. It was time to take action.
“Call Abe,” Jackson said, removing his jacket as he walked toward the walk-in closet at the back of the room. Abe Swartz was not only Jackson’s attorney but a longtime friend. “Tell him we need a private investigator.”
“Should I tell him why?” Marissa asked.
“Yes.”
